I have always, since I was little, been told that I was beautiful.

the First of my parents and family, and girlfriends, boys and men throughout my life. It has been a stable, strong and comfortable part of my identity to know that even in times where everything went to hell, I was at least still beautiful. So much did I know.

I can remember that my mother at one point told me that she also had always been told that she was beautiful. And when she was a teenager, she was so afraid to ruin the quiet, delicate beauty, which all complimented her for – by to open your mouth and speak – that she often sat completely quiet and looked empty out in premises for the companies, so she was sure that she was his beautiful I.

I myself can easily recall the feeling. The feeling of that young girl not to laugh too loud, scream too much, or in any fill with a masculine energy, that would destroy my beauty.

I am ashamed to write it here. For I am a good feminist. A strong and modern woman – as well know that I hold a thousand other internal and more important things than the immediate superficial beauty.

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But I’m terrified of losing it.

And here I’m not talking about the delicious ageing, Gunbritt-like kind of beauty. I’m talking about the most primitive, superficial form. The where your butt sits high, the breasts strutter, the hair is long and blond, and the skin is tight – that is, youth is beauty. The only beauty we see in Hollywood movies and on the Victoria’s Secrets catwalk.

A big part of my identity I have built up around it to be beautiful.

Or it is in fact not me who has done it alone, but society. The patriarchal societies have always measured and weighed women’s value by their appearance. Told us that men are more sexy with age and women are losing value.

But even though I’m not alone at fault in having allowed such a large part of my identity for something so temporary like beauty, I fear, who am I, when I am not her the delicious longer. When I one day cross the the side, where the women always tell that they were suddenly invisible. To no longer flirted with them, looked after them on the street or flashed to them in the bar.

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Photo: Petra Kleis

of course, You can stay young and objectively delicious in a long time today – both through diet and exercise – and also a little harder pesticides the Danish beauty salons.

And I have no doubt that I am going to use it all.

But fuck, how I wish that it was not such. How I wish that I truly could feel that it made sense that my appearance came with my age, no one is young forever, to strækmærkerne was for the children’s sake, and that smilerynkerne testified about a long and fun life. I still hope fervently that I can reach to get such a day.

But most of all, I hope that the little girls who are growing up today – after the #meto and in a reality where there is far greater diversity among women in both appearance, weight, and age in film, music and influencer industry – will become adults with a greater peace of mind and without the shameful fear, which I still feel when I see my body and my face slowly and naturally change.

So let us remember to tell our girls that they are strong, wise, tough, skilled, loving, wild and lovely, exactly as they are.

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